Creation
by azure violet
Summary: Molly Nelson – such a normal name; a tattoo on her soul. But she will never be that innocent girl with pigtails again, no, never. And lo, her freckles are fading. Not your average Molly Weasley fic.
1. Destruction of Joy

****

Creation

Chapter: 1- Destruction of Joy

****

Author: azure

****

Author Email: ballena_chica@yahoo.com

****

Rating: PG-13, but on the high side: sex, swearing, and angst. 

****

Summary: Molly Nelson – such a normal name; a tattoo on her soul. But she will never be that innocent girl with pigtails again, no, never. And lo, her freckles are fading. Not your average Molly Weasley fic.

~~~

__

Shake back your hair, O red-headed girl.

Let go your laughter and keep your two proud freckles on your chin.

Somewhere is a man looking for a red-headed girl and some day maybe he will look into your eyes for a restaurant cashier and find a lover, maybe.

-- Carl Sandburg, Smoke & Steel

****

Joy

She was happy and funny and all that one could look for in a sixteen-year-old girl. Her red hair was never tidy; her grin was not perfect but always apparent. And she always ran and stopped and said hello when she passed him in the halls.

She was all that he was not; she spoke some French merrily to her myriad of friends in the hall; she made the teachers smile and pet her and give her high marks.

She was a plump, freckled, red-haired girl, and though she was as merry as a Muggle pixie, he could not help but see residues of sadness in those grey-green eyes.

He in all his pale Roman beauty was the avenging silent angel to this swirl of exploding joyousness. His grey eyes did not tell her anything; his murmurs of Latin were not spoken to any but his parents, and the teachers did not love him.

He did not know why this dizzy swirl of sixteen-year-old happy imperfection attracted him so; his parents would never approve of imperfection.

He was the perfect darkness, she the imperfect light of the sun.

He saw her for moments that seemed to last forever, moments that would come back to haunt him before he fell asleep.

She would throw her arms around him in his dreams, laugh into his skin, her plump arms holding him tight, tighter and her lips meeting his in a burst of poppies and sunlight.

So when he found her sobbing in the hallway, what could he do but kiss her?

****

Damnation

Life isn't fair.

Damn the God her family so fervently believes in, damn it all.

Her mother is a vegetable in St. Mungo's; their God had damned them already, hasn't he?

But the white angel (or was he a devil? she could never be sure) boy finds her and presses his cool firm lips onto her soft ones; the curses she mutters are lost in the rush of lips; the hands upon her skin whisper prayers unlike those her mother has whispered in her piousness.

She is damned; she is swirling in the fires of hell that this white angel had brought upon her. And she does not care; he is in her and all is cold and eternally burning and the pleasure is in the knowing that she is damned.

This devil-angel has taken her body; she has given it to him.

She is damned, but if her life is a hell on earth –

How much worse can damnation be?

****

Normalcy

Molly Nelson.

Such a normal name; it is like a tattoo on her soul, contorting her spirit into some semblance of normalcy.

She hates the normalcy, tries so hard to avoid it. She is pure, unadulterated. She is herself.

But the white-devil angel that is Lucius has torn her normalcy; her joy at living has been ripped to shreds by his long, slender, oh-so-careful fingers.

Her friends see her tear-filled-eyes and ask her if she's ill.

If only they knew.

****

Conquered

She is hard put to run through the corridors like some Olympic racer, skipping to a Muggle song and crying out absurd phrases in languages she barely knows.

"Vini, vidi, vici," he murmurs, coming behind her.

When she turns, she knows without asking what he means.

He came, he saw, and he conquered.

But she smiles like the almost-slave that she has become and takes his hand, leading him, running through the hallways so that he is almost late for Transfiguration.

Barely listening to the squeaking of her Charms professor, she thinks of the white hands upon her skin and wonders how he treats his conquered.

Arthur Weasley meets her eyes for just a moment and she has a feeling of almost imperceptible freedom.

But she has seen the black mark upon Lucius' arm.

It tells her differently.

****

Fading

They kiss in dark corridors.

The kisses are hard and she can feel no joy in his mouth.

Her hands in his hair are joyous; his hair is almost-silk and her hands delight at its touch. But soon they are occupied elsewhere and it is all hard and painful and yet ecstatic and she will never be the pure little girl with pigtails she was, no, never.

She can almost feel her freckles fading into her skin as he lies on top of her.

~~~

__

Author's Note: Yes, my muse took me forever to get working here… This was inspired heavily by _A Ring of Endless Light_ and Verity's wonderful _Switch_; I'm sorry if this resembles either too greatly. It will be continued, but as to how long it will be, I do not know.

This is the a-normal Molly Weasley fanfic; do you like it?

Please review and tell me how you like it – reviews are like raspberry tea on a bleak winter day.

-- azure


	2. The Weeds That Remain

****

Creation

Chapter: 2- The Weeds That Remain

****

Author: azure

****

Author Email: ballena_chica@yahoo.com

****

Rating: PG-13, but on the high side: sex, swearing, and angst. 

****

Summary: Molly Nelson – such a normal name; a tattoo on her soul. But she will never be that innocent girl with pigtails again, no, never. And lo, her freckles are fading. Not your average Molly Weasley fic.

~~~

__

There are laws in the village against weeds.

The law says a weed is wrong and shall be killed.

The weeds say life is a white and lovely thing.

-- Carl Sandburg, Smoke & Steel

****

Confusion

Lucius Malfoy does not know when he has felt so utterly and happily confused.

His parents would disapprove, would disown him, would force some pale-faced, quiet beauty reeking of perfection into his unwilling arms.

But this plump girl, snoring softly next to him in his green velvet bed makes him smile, makes him laugh as he never has.

She trembles when he kisses her, and her eyes seem to have faded, but she seems happy, so very happy, when he takes her into his arms and kisses each one of her freckles, her eyelids, her hair.

She sings quietly, in breathless bits, when he holds her tightly, smiling always and never trying to show him that she is fading under his hands.

But he knows it and fears it.

Because what will he do when her joy is lost?

****

Paradise

She thinks she might understand how love can kill.

His eyes say he loves her, but his murmurs of Latin to her are cold, and his eyes are flat, like the Sickles that he has too many of.

She still smiles at him, and sees a light in his eyes, but she knows that this is like Eden and wonders how long it will last.

He holds her hand gently in the hallways, seeming not to care who sees them. Then she notices that the hallway is empty and he is leaning towards her, waiting to be kissed.

He whispers to her in Latin and the words sound loving, and his kisses are not as hard as they used to be, as if he wants to save her from the destruction he has already wrought upon her.

It's too late.

It's too late for her to be that dashing redhead again, isn't it?

When did the weeds grow in Eden, marring the beauty and perfection of paradise?

****

Shattering

His parents have written him.

A fucking "friend of the family" saw him kissing Molly, and told.

They hate him.

And why?

What has he done to cause all of this?

Fuck all of this.

He knows his parents are indifferent to eachother. He will not be like that, or so he thinks.

He thinks about this a lot.

Everything is shattering; she is brightening for every moment he considers her face – her brightness will soon seem angelic if he keeps this up.

His parents think that they're perfectly cultivated flowers, don't they? And that Molly is a weed, spoiling the distant perfection that they seem to demand out of everyone crossing their path.

This is all to drive him insane, isn't it?

She is going to stay his; already, he can't remember exactly how he survived without this pixie of a girl near him.

He remembers the feeling of her hands fluttering through his hair like so many butterflies, the feeling of her soft lips pressed to his.

No.

She is staying with him.

Fuck all else.

****

Grasping

He walks with her in the hallways now, his hand always holding tightly to hers, as if he wants to make sure that she will not disappear when he blinks.

He holds her tight, tighter when he kisses her; he helps her with homework; she feels as if he's never going to leave her side except for classes. She knows that the teachers look at them oddly, for who ever saw a Gryffindor and a Slytherin so attached at the hip?

The mark on his arm does not go away; he makes no move to explain it. She knows that there is something wrong, but wants to enjoy his hand in hers for the moment, ignoring the fact that her fingertips are turning white.

She guesses that something is wrong with his family; he merely traces his delicate piano-player fingers across her cheek and says nothing.

Her friends have stopped their cheery conversations with her, and she tries not to notice the sick feeling this gives her. She just looks into his eyes and feels the light pressure from his fingers and surrenders.

Maybe she is a weed compared to his pale beauty, but she is quietly content, somehow.

She is conquered and she does not care anymore.

She may be a slave, but she loves her master more than her freedom.

She feels ugly and jaded, and her joy is lost somewhere far away, but the look in Lucius' eyes is enough, so much more than enough, and she will stay in his arms forever if he asks.

Because she thinks she loves him.

~~~

__

Author's Note: Yes, another chapter of Creation… Do you like it? Please review if you do, then…

Thank you to Verity and Laura-Grace, my two lovely reviewers! 

It probably _will_ get a bit happier, eventually. But not innocent; would I ever do that to any of you?

:)

azure


	3. Past the Dreams of Living

****

Creation

Chapter: 3 – Past the Dreams of Living 

****

Author: azure

****

Author Email: ballena_chica@yahoo.com

****

Rating: PG-13, but on the high side: sex, swearing, and angst. 

****

Summary: Molly Nelson – such a normal name; a tattoo on her soul. But she will never be that innocent girl with pigtails again, no, never. And lo, her freckles are fading. Not your average Molly Weasley fic.

~~~

__

A mother of men, a sister, a lover, a woman past the dreams of the living—

Does she go sad, singing and red out of the float of this dome?

-- Carl Sandburg, Smoke & Steel

****

Sad, Singing

She does not know why she thinks of Arthur Weasley so much now.

He is merely a seventh year that she bumps into occasionally; Gryffindors and Ravenclaws are not in the habit of associating much. But he is colorful and smiles at her and the blue eyes behind his glasses sparkle.

Is it always or and never and?

Could she not have them both and laugh and be damned and stay joyous and yet feel so needed by two young men, both so different?

Lucius might know, but he is busy now, busy with something that he will not explain to her. So she does her homework, ignoring that there are no friends to sit with her and joke with her as there used to be.

She wants Lucius to stop whatever fool's errand he is running.

She wants to hold Arthur in her arms and crawl into those blue, blue eyes.

Yet somehow, drifting just before sleep, she wants to be a little girl again; she wants to be Molly Nelson, all freckles and pigtails.

But when she wakes she cannot remember all this, and is left with the residues of innocence on her cheeks.

****

Mother of Men

He is going to have to choose one or the other, soon.

Either he is going to have to give up Molly, whose skin is still milky white and soft to the touch, and her eyes still sad, but her smile bright, or his Master.

He knows that Molly carries his child, now, and that she will weep when he turns her down.

But his Master's mark burns on his arm ferociously.

And he, the Lucius Malfoy who vowed ferociously to love the red-headed girl and to never let her go, doesn't think he's strong enough to do anything but turn away.

****

Past the Dreams of Living

She doesn't really notice when he gives her the glass of wine. 

She sips it slowly, enjoying the burning feeling in her throat and the sweet, sweet aftertaste. He puts his arm around her, kissing her sweetly burning mouth, playing with her hair. All of this is so gentle that she would question, but the wine makes her drowsy and she can only look, smiling, up at him, enjoying his ministrations. 

He strokes her stomach now, an odd caress, but, upon kissing his cheek with her wine-sweetened lips, she tastes a tear. What could make him, her white avenging angel, cry so? He has always seemed so strong within her, holding her; it was always she who cried out.

And so she begins to cry, sobbing, not knowing why. And then her lips form a song, and she sings through her tears and then his mouth is on hers, gentle as if for the first time and they sing together while making barely a sound.

She thinks, though her mind is a wine-sweetened muddle (how many pretty glasses is she knocking to the floor as he undoes her buttons on the bed?) that this must be the end.

It is not until she wakes up the next morning with so much blood on her robes that she realizes that not all endings are happy.

****

Does She Go

Arthur Weasley finds her collapsed in the Common Room, the blood staining her white skin, and a head muddled from sweet wine the night before. He carries her to the Hospital Wing, unaware of Lucius Malfoy watching him, somehow pleased at what remains.

Molly Nelson stirs slightly in his arms, wondering if, how, when she will go on with life. But if this man carries her in his arms, maybe she will open her eyes and see what sad song she has woken up to.

~~~

****

Author's Note: Yes, a "long-awaited" chapter of Creation. Please review; reviews help me see what I need to improve upon and what I am doing well – I've learned and am still learning to write from the feedback I get off my Harry Potter fanfic.

Oh, and it _will_ get happier; you may have just read the most depressing and haunting chapter of them all.

Reviewing is good, you know…

~ azure


End file.
